


'Bye, Sam

by Leah



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah/pseuds/Leah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam tells Dean he's going away to Stanford in exactly one month, neither of them can (or want to) control their hidden desires for each other any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Bye, Sam

“What?” Dean asks, watching as Sammy drops his eyes. Dean feels an ache start up in his ribcage, as his heart beats faster and faster at the realization that Sam will _leave_. Sam will pack his bags and walk out the door exactly one month from today, and Dean’s chest throbs at the picture in his head of Sam receding into the horizon. 

“I said, I got accepted at Stan-“ 

“I know what you said,” Dean whispers, dropping his head into his hands , rubbing his eyes until he sees spots, and he hopes that, when he opens his eyes, Sam will laugh and tell him it was a joke. However, when he finally works up the nerve to look at Sam, Sam’s own brown eyes, bleary with tears, reinforce the reality of the situation. “I just don’t want it to be true.”

“I need to do this, Dean,” Sam murmurs, leaning closer to Dean, so close Dean can feel his breath playing over his cheek. Dean still can’t comprehend himself without Sam, still can’t think about never being able to see his baby brother again. 

Without thinking too hard, Sam indulges the odd feelings he’s been trying to ignore for the past few years and leans in, pressing his lips to Dean’s, trying to tell him he’s not abandoning him; just this lifestyle. Sam is surprised when Dean leans into the kiss, nipping needily at Sam’s lips, crashing his teeth against Sam’s in an effort to tell Sam he _can’t_ go. He can’t leave Dean; not this easily. 

Dean snaps out of his desperation long enough to remember he isn’t supposed to be kissing his little brother. He remembers how, even after longing to touch Sam for far too long, he vowed he wouldn’t hurt his Sammy, not like this. Not ever like this. 

Dean gruffly pushes Sam away, his back landing on their shared bed, and rushes out of the apartment, relishing the frigid night air in his lungs. Sam, meanwhile, stares at the ceiling as he tries to will the tears out of his eyes. 

It doesn’t work.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sam’s not sure what time it is, but moonlight is streaming in between the curtains as Dean shakes the mattress on his way to his designated spot. He’s already taken off his coat and jeans, but his skin still radiates cold onto an already-chilly Sam. 

Quickly, Sam follows suit, lifting his hips off the bed to slip his jeans off. He scrambles under the covers, wanting nothing more than to curl against Dean’s side, but, after being awoken so suddenly, the memories from earlier in the evening slowly dribble back into his mind. 

Sam remembers the way Dean’s lips yielded under his own, the way Dean clutched at Sam’s wrists, the way Dean shoved him on the shoulder. Sleep suddenly evades him. 

“Dean?” Sam asks, his voice small. 

Dean’s heart nearly breaks at the unsure tone.

“Yeah, Sammy?” he murmurs, trying to sound as if he’d been drifting off into a dream. 

Sam’s not sure what he wants to say next, so, instead, he stays quiet, trying not to let the sobs currently scratching at his ribs escape. Dean seems to notice something is wrong, despite his back being turned to Sam. Rolling over, Dean props his head up on his elbow, trying not to imagine the way Sam’s skin would feel under his fingers. 

“You okay?” Dean asks, not missing the breaths Sam is struggling to release calmly. Something rips through Sam at the sound of Dean’s concern, and he lets a sob escape, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “Sam?”

Dean rubs Sam’s chest, coaxing the gut-wrenching sobs out of Sam’s body and whispering soft, loving things. After a few minutes, Sam calms down enough to get four regular breaths out. He begins to roll onto his side again, only to be stopped by Dean’s arm wrapping tighter around his ribs. 

“C’mere, Sammy,” Dean whispers, tugging Sam back until his chest is pressed against Sam’s arm. Sure, Dean’s still pissed. Sure, Dean’s still completely crushed. 

But _nothing_ takes precedence over taking care of Sammy. So, Dean continues to rub comforting circles on Sam’s stomach and rests his chin on Sam’s thin shoulder. 

“I’ve just messed everything up, haven’t I, De?” Sam squeaks out, turning his head to look Dean in the eyes. He looks far younger than his seventeen (and three-quarters, as he always reminds Dean) years. “This whole ‘going away to college’ thing is literally going to tear us apart, and, now, I’m an idiot who decided to kiss his own brother. I’m sorry, Dean. I really, really am, because there’s almost no way you and Dad will forgive me for both things.” 

Dean pauses the rubbing just long enough to brush a silent tear from Sam’s face, shushing him. He can’t let Sam feel so guilty about something he’s pined after for years. 

“Don’t be sorry, Sam,” Dean murmurs, latching his lips onto Sam’s and stroking Sam’s cheekbones lovingly. For a few minutes, Dean lets himself forget he’s angry and disappointed and completely unsure. Instead, he learns each dip in Sam’s torso, skates his fingertips across Sam’s smooth skin; all the while, exploring Sam’s eager mouth. 

Sam wiggles beneath Dean’s calloused hands, confused about Dean, intoxicated by his smell, and overwhelmed at his need for Dean to be near him at all times. When Dean pulls away, Sam tries to lengthen the space of time where Dean doesn’t completely hate him yet by rolling onto his side and sucking dark purple marks onto Dean’s shoulder. 

“De, I’m sorry,” Sam whispers again, punctuating it with a kiss to his shoulder. 

Dean wraps his arm around Sam’s thin shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head before lolling off into a peaceful sleep. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next week whips past Dean in a flash of desperate, clinging kisses and reckless experiments when the lights go off. He tries to not let himself feel too guilty when he has so little time left with his Sammy, but it always finds a way into his mind when he least expects it. 

Like when he’s trying to lose himself in the mindless mid-afternoon TV programming, for instance. It just starts when a kid with shaggy hair waltzes onto the screen, bumping into the cute girl. Of course, they fall in love within the next five minutes. 

Dean suddenly realizes what he’s keeping Sammy from. He’s trapping Sam in yet another fucked up part of their lives, where he’s stuck kissing his older brother when he’d probably much rather be kissing Stacey from Calculus or something. 

 

He tries to lose himself in the movie again, but, instead, he just wades in and out of nagging, self-deprecating thoughts until Sam comes home, plopping himself onto the couch beside Sam. Sam snuggles against Dean’s side, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder and breathing in the familiar scent of cheap soap and motor oil. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam mumbles, pressing a sloppy kiss to Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean doesn’t say anything, instead opting to shimmy a few inches away from Sam’s side. He’s not sure what he wants to say, but he sure as hell can’t say it when Sam is pressed so close. 

“Dean?” Sam asks, his heart dropping. His stomach threatens to revolt against him at the idea that Dean’s changed his mind. After a week of paradise, Sam can’t imagine living any other way. If Dean doesn’t want him anymore, he’s not sure how he’ll survive. 

“Hey, Sam,” Dean mumbles, glaring the flickering screen.

“Are you okay?” Sam whispers, fixing his eyes on Dean’s profile, not wanting to hear the answer. 

Dean shrugs his shoulders.

“Dean,” Sam says in an authoritative voice, tired of the suspense. If Dean wants to break it off, then fine. Sam'll figure out a way to manage. But _Dean_ has to do it. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Why don’t you tell me how you feel, first,” Dean nearly whispers, turning so his back is leaning against the arm of the couch. He looks at Sam for the first time and sees the heartbroken look on his face.

“I’m … scared,” Sam mumbles, the anger from moments before subsiding. “I’m scared of what you’re feeling right now. What’s wrong? What did I do?” 

Tears well up in Sam’s eyes as his lip trembles, and Dean can’t even imagine being as resilient as he had planned. He can’t just sit here and watch Sam’s heart break , racking his mind for any misstep he could’ve made. Dean scoots closer to Sam again, brushing the long hair away from his eyes. 

“Nothing, baby,” Dean whispers, kicking himself for being such a selfish asshole. He gives Sam a relaxed kiss, as Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s neck. “I’m just being dumb is all, don’t worry. You’re perfect. I promise.”

“I love you, Dean,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s neck, as he manages to hold back a wave of tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Dean feels a ball of happiness explode in his chest, after he finishes hating himself because _Sammy loves him_. 

Sure, they’ve told each other they love each other before, but it’s never meant anything like this. 

Dean grins, pinning Sam to the couch. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Dean thinks Sam doesn’t notice when he gets lost in his own mind, wallowing through sadness at Sam’s eminent departure, a newfound fondness of his baby brother, and the underlying anger at the way Sam is just _abandoning_ him. Dean likes to think he can hide it well, but Sam knows better. 

Sure, it’ll look like Dean’s watching TV, or looking out the window, but Sam can spot that faraway look in Dean’s eyes before Dean’s even aware he drifted away. Sam does his best to distract Dean before he can think too hard about anything, usually by shoving his tongue down Dean’s throat or the like. 

However, things have had to change since Dad showed up, out of the blue, three days ago. 

“Samuel!” John yells down the hallway for the, seemingly, thousandth time. Dean sighs in the kitchen, wanting nothing more than to spill Sam’s secret to John, so John will do something to keep Sam here, with Dean. 

“I said _no_ , Dad!” Sam shouts from his and Dean’s bedroom. Dean can hear that Sam isn’t angry, he’s just frustrated. So frustrated he’d rather punch a wall than continue talking to their father. 

“Dad, he’s not like us,” Dean mumbles under his breath, looking at the floor. 

“Why the hell not, Dean?” John grumbles, completely defeated. “I raised him just the same as you, and, look, you’ve turned out great! But Sam, he’s just somethin’ else.”

Dean’s not sure whether he should feel warm under his father’s praise or furious that he’s badmouthing Sammy. He chooses to walk the middle of the line and, instead, shuffles around the table, towards the hall. 

“I’ll just, uh,” Dean stumbles on his words, backing into the hall. “You just stay here, I’ll see if I can get him to come.” John grumbles something in reply, but Dean actually couldn’t care less. He scurries down the hall and taps on the door. 

“Leave me _alone_ , Dad!” Sam shouts. The mattress springs creak in a very familiar way as Sam throws himself on the bed. He lets out an exasperated sigh behind the door. 

Dean taps on the door again, this time murmuring, “It’s Dean.” He hears Sam scramble off the bed and unlock the door before opening it and pulling Dean inside. Dean relocks the door behind them as Sam makes himself comfortable, leaning against their meager pillows. 

Dean sits cross-legged in front of Sam, observing his younger brother’s tense shoulders. Running a finger along Sam’s shin, Dean makes a small, humming noise of comfort. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” he asks, gently. 

“You know what’s wrong, Dean,” Sam grumbles, and Dean’s not sure if Sam’s bemoaning their father’s insistence that he partake in the hunts or if he’s upset that, in their final two weeks, he can’t have Dean all to himself. 

“How do I fix it, baby?” Dean asks, leaning closer and latching his lips to Sam’s neck, sucking lightly, not nearly enough to leave questionable marks. Sam simply makes a throaty noise, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. “Hmm?”

“Dean,” Sam chokes out, his voice suddenly filled with sadness rather than excitement. Dean immediately sits back, only to find his brother swiftly falling to pieces with his hands splayed across his face. Dean pulls Sam onto his lap, stroking his shaggy hair and whispering sweet nothings to him. 

“Boys,” John shouts from the kitchen. “I’ll be better off going alone, at this rate, goddammit. I’ll be back in a few days.” With that, the boys, still tangled together on the bed, hear the door slam and their father’s truck start up. 

“See, Sammy?” Dean asks, as Sam grips his shirt more firmly. “Everything’s okay, Dad’s gone. It’s just us, now. Everything’s alright.”

“We shouldn’t’ve done this, Dean,” Sam gasps in between rib-shaking sobs. 

Dean’s heart stutters in his chest for a moment, afraid that Sam will pull away, that Sam will leave right now to avoid this sick, perverted thing they’ve started; that Dean let start. Sam must sense Dean’s sudden apprehension, for he sits up, readjusting himself so that his legs are wrapped around Dean’s waist. He cradles Dean’s face, looking him in the eye and hoping his own aren’t too swollen.

“I don’t mean I regret it, Dean,” Sam whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s mostly-unresponsive lips. “I mean it’s going to be so much harder now that I can’t live without you. Now that I break down when our fucking Dad comes home, and I can’t kiss you whenever I want. I don’t know how I’m going to pack my bags and walk out that fucking door in two weeks, if you don’t come with.”

Dean knows Sam is begging for him to come, in Sam’s own way, but, at the same time, Dean knows he can’t leave Dad all alone. He’ll go insane, trying to hunt down the thing that killed Mom all by himself. As much as it’ll kill Dean to see Sam go, Dean has to stay. Sam knows it. Dean knows it. They just don’t want to believe it. 

“Sam, I-“

“I know, Dean.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Suddenly, two weeks has turned into an hour, and Sam is mostly finished packing his things. Dean watches from the bed, completely shell-shocked as silent tears stream down his cheeks. Sam darts around the room, shoving clothes into his duffle   
along with a knife and other supernatural protections. 

As he zips up the final bag, Sam looks at Dean. They sit in silence for a moment, watching each other; taking in the last thing they’ll see of each other. 

“It’ll be okay, Dean,” Sam whispers, his voice hoarse. 

Dean wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands, sniffling. “I know.”

Sam folds himself onto the bed, next to Dean, and leans his head against Dean’s shaking shoulder. Today is not a day for kisses or goodbye-sex.

No, that was yesterday. 

Today is the day brothers say goodbye. 

That doesn’t mean hand-holding is off limits, though, as Sam’s lanky fingers wrap around Dean’s. As Dean expected, Sam is trying to play it cool, like he isn’t completely self-destructing on the inside, but Dean can tell. The way Sam’s hands shake as he tries to fold laundry; the way he pauses, facing away from Dean, to collect himself; the way he moves so slowly, like he wants this day to last forever, are all telling signs for Dean. 

“You need to go,” Dean whispers, glancing at the clock, but holding Sam’s hand tighter. 

Sam nods, finally letting a few tears fall, which he wipes away, roughly. Sam stands up, quickly followed by Dean, and Sam shoulders his duffle bag and picks up the suitcase he found at a thrift shop. Dean follows him down the dimly lit hallway to the chilly night air outside. 

In front of Sam’s car, Sam puts his bags down and turns to face Dean. They don’t say anything. Instead, they step closer to each other, as Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and Sam slips his arms under Dean’s. Dean can feel Sam shaking, but he doesn’t try to comfort him, because he knows Sam can feel his chest heaving, too. 

‘ _This is it_ ,’ Dean thinks to himself as he grips Sam tighter. ‘ _The last time I’ll hug Sammy. The last time I’ll smell him. The last time we get to say goodbye._ ’

He doesn’t say it, though. He just hugs and hugs until Sam loosens his grip, and, suddenly, the hug is over. Everything’s happening too fast, Dean wants to scream. Sam needs to stay here with Dean and promise to never leave, ever.   
But, alas, Sam is already shoving his bags into the back seat, while Dean watches. 

“’Bye, Dean,” Sam whispers.

“Bitch,” Dean shoots back, his voice quavering. 

Sam’s lip twitches at the old nickname, and fresh tears roll down his cheeks. 

“Jerk,” he murmurs.

“Bye, Sam.”

Sam sinks into the old driver’s seat, pausing for a lingering moment to look at Dean and remember everything he possibly can: the way he feels; the way he falls apart when someone kisses his jaw; the way he laughs extra loud when something is actually funny to him. 

But, most importantly, Sam remembers the way Dean loves him unconditionally. The way Sam is always first, no matter what. Suddenly, Sam can’t think about it anymore, or else, he knows, he’ll get out of the car and call his whole future off. 

With a quick wave of his hand, and a completely false smile, Sam backs out of the driveway, disappearing quickly into the darkening evening light, far too quickly for Dean’s liking, and Dean is left alone, with nothing to remember Sam by but his own faulty memory and the quickly fading smell of Sam on his sheets. 

Dean turns on his heel and trudges back inside.


End file.
